


Irezumi

by domokunrainbowkinz



Series: the price of life [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Day 2: Markings/Extravagance, Explicit Sexual Content, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mafia Victor Nikiforov, Russian Mafia, Tattoos, YOI Mafia Week, Yakuza Yuuri, i know i'm late but time is fake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domokunrainbowkinz/pseuds/domokunrainbowkinz
Summary: For day 2 of YOI Mafia Week: Markings/Extravagance. Set in the same universe as my mafia one-shotyou are my sunshine(HUGE WARNING FOR MCD).





	Irezumi

It had been months since Victor had seen Yuuri, and it’s eating away at him.

The last time he saw him, Yuuri was bleeding out in an alley, and for a terrifying moment Victor thought he’d lost him forever. The one reason he felt alive after all these years, his life slowly seeping out of him with every life he took, every bullet that left the barrel of his gun. New life breathed into him, when his old one left him empty and soulless.

Of course, if Victor had his way, he would’ve stayed with Yuuri at the hospital until he was _absolutely_ sure he was going to be okay. But because the universe seemed to be playing a cruel joke on him, he had to drop Yuuri off like he was a liability, acting the part of the cold and ruthless _sovietnik_ of the Feltsman Bratva.

“I’d rather not have one of your dogs die on me,” he had sneered, each word like a dagger to his heart.

Now, months later, he is finally back at the headquarters of the Nishigori- _ikka_ , in the stifling _washitsu_ where negotiations took place. It seemed to be even more tense, maybe due to the poor quality of the recent methamphetamine shipment, maybe due to the events of the last negotiation.

It could also be due to the presence of their best hitman, looking at anywhere but Victor from across the table.

Yuuri seemed to have recovered well, much to Victor’s relief, but there was a new tension in his posture, the way he sat motionless as he watched the negotiations. Victor slipped into his role easily, defending Yakov when needed, sending subtle jabs at the _kumicho_ when he seemed to be getting too confident, but he couldn’t stop the periodic glances thrown over to Yuuri.

When the negotiations ended, with both sides somewhat satisfied, Yuuri turned and left without a glance.

Victor made up some flimsy excuse to follow after Yuuri, something about finding the bathroom. Yakov, of course, paid him no mind. He trusted Victor, had practically raised him ever since he was plucked off the streets of St. Petersburg as a child, so Yakov knew he would never _dare_ to do something foolish.

He was wrong.

“Yuuri.”

The man stopped walking, but he didn’t turn around.

“Are you – is your…” Victor tried to get the words out, but they seemed to be stuck in his throat.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri replied curtly, still turned around.

Victor’s throat constricted.

_I’m fine._

The words were devoid of emotion. Cold, soulless, unlike the Yuuri he’d come to know after all these years, the one he –

“Wait,” Victor reached out, grabbing Yuuri’s wrist. A sense of déjà vu washed over him, reminding him of a similar scene that happened years ago, when he finally learned the name of the Nishigori- _ikka’_ s mysterious hitman.

The difference this time, was Yuuri pulled away.

“Victor…don’t,” he said quietly, and finally, _finally_ , he turned.

There was fear in his eyes.

Victor felt his entire body go cold, his heart sinking like a stone.

“Please, don’t…we can’t – we’ve already gone too far, we – we have to stop this, I can’t – ”

“But do you want to?” Victor asked, and Yuuri looked at him with wide eyes, struggling for an answer.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key card, pressing it into Yuuri’s hand.

“Keep it,” Victor said. “Whether you use it, it’s up to you.”

Yuuri looked at the card. The hotel name and room number were printed on the front, revealing the exact location of where Victor would be staying that night.

Without saying another word, Victor turned and left. However Yuuri used that information was up to him: he could sneak in that night and murder Victor in his sleep; choose to do nothing and discard the keycard.

Or he could stay the night.

//

Undressing and disarming was always strangely therapeutic.

Jacket. Handguns. Holsters. Each layer of him falling away, until all that was left was Victor. Not Victor Nikiforov, _sovietnik_ of the Feltsman Bratva, feared by all in the underworld, a genius, a monster, the devil. A starving orphan abandoned in the cold Russian winter, a boy who did everything he could to survive and live in the murky underworld.

Just Victor.

He looked at the digital clock beside his nightstand. It was late; most people would be in their homes sleeping by now.

Including Yuuri.

Honestly, Victor didn’t know what to expect. Yuuri got _shot_ because of Victor, just a breath away from death all those months ago. If he was a smart man, he must have realized this wasn’t worth it, worth dying for.

Victor wasn’t worth it.

He heaved a deep sigh, feeling ancient at twenty-four. It was foolish of him to even have hoped in the first place, when the answer had been obvious with how Yuuri treated him.

Suddenly, he heard the soft noise of the door unlocking.

Victor picked up the nearest handgun by reflex, aiming it at the door. It opened slowly as Victor held his breath, ready to shoot.

Yuuri stepped in, and Victor dropped his gun, the object making a dull _thud_ as it fell on the carpet.

“Yuuri?” Victor whispered, afraid that if he was too loud, the illusion would melt away.

He stayed silent, letting to door close shut. The air was tense, electric, each breath a deafening noise in the dead silence.

“I…” Yuuri finally spoke, “I’ve decided.”

“Decided what?” Victor asked, his heart beating painfully hard in his chest.

Yuuri looked at him, his face no longer fearful and uncertain like before.

“You asked me earlier if I wanted to do… _this_.”

He gestured between them, unable to put a name to whatever it is they had.

“And?” Victor prompted, holding his breath.

Yuuri stepped closer, his eyes burning like coals in the dim light of the hotel room.

“Yes,” he breathed quietly, “I want this.”

Victor exhaled shakily.

He wanted to laugh, wanted to hug Yuuri and kiss him senseless, climb to the rooftop of the hotel and scream to the world.

But he didn’t. Yuuri’s answer shocked him as much as it relieved him, because he had been so sure that Yuuri wanted to end this strange, beautiful _thing_ , whatever this was, between them. He tried to move, tried to say something, but words seemed to have fled his mind, his body frozen by Yuuri’s captivating stare.

He barely registered Yuuri touching his hand softly, and he looked down to see Yuuri’s slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted Victor’s hand to his mouth, kissing each knuckle reverently before pressing his lips against Victor’s palm.

“Yuuri…” Victor rasped, cupping his cheek, feeling the other man lean into his touch. He dragged his thumb along his bottom lip, feeling the chapped skin beneath, a warm breath escaping from that mouth.

It was like the pure joy and elation the first time he ice-skated when Yuuri’s lips pressed onto Victor’s. Another kiss was Makkachin’s warm fur cuddled up against him in the cold winter. Yuuri’s lips parted under Victor’s, a flower blooming in the spring, his tongue dragging across Victor’s bottom lip.

He ran his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, feeling hands creep up his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him closer so their bodies were flush with one-another’s. Their kisses grew more frantic, so many years of pent-up emotions spilling out through their mouths and hands.

Victor wasn’t sure who it was, but somehow they ended up on the bed, his body pressed under Yuuri’s as the other man kissed down his neck, sucking faint bruises as he made his way down. His fingers worked on unbuttoning Victor’s shirt, his hands shaking slightly as he fumbled with the buttons. Victor put a hand on his chest, causing him to look at him with confusion. Yuuri’s face was flushed, his hair already a mess from Victor’s fingers.

“Yuuri, is this okay?” he asked. “We can stop, if you’d like.”

He paused. Then, he moved up to Victor’s mouth and kissed him deeply, his fingers moving once again.

“This is fine,” he whispered, finally done with Victor’s shirt. He ran his hands down his chest, the touch making Victor’s head spin.

“This is more than fine,” he continued, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ve wanted this for so long…”

Victor dragged Yuuri into another searing kiss, pressing their bodies close together, wanting to burn the feeling of Yuuri’s body against his into his soul.

“I did too,” he said, smiling.

The kissed each other slowly after that, taking the time to memorize the taste of each other, each line and plane of their body. Victor’s shirt and pants ended up somewhere on the ground, Yuuri throwing them off a little too enthusiastically. Yuuri kissed each scar on Victor’s body, and for a second, Victor believed that this, alone, could make them disappear. Erase any evidence of what he’s done, what he’s lost.

Yuuri was ruthless, leaving prominent bruises all down Victor’s neck, across his chest, on the soft skin between his thighs. The thought of Yuuri leaving his mark on Victor, a tangible, physical reminder of their time together, made his skin burn with pleasure. He wanted to be permanently branded, to have Yuuri’s presence covering every inch of him.

When Victor reached to take Yuuri’s shirt off, he felt the other man freeze.

“Yuuri?” he asked. The other man sat up, then licked his lips nervously, his hands lingering near the buttons of his shirt. Victor followed, sitting up to meet Yuuri at eye-level.

“Um…I…don’t really like showing people this…” he mumbled, looking down. “But, for you…”

Victor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. If Yuuri was referring to scars, Victor had a fair share of his own, obviously visible even in the poor lighting, and it wouldn’t make Yuuri any less beautiful to him.

Yuuri bit his lip, then unbuttoned his shirt. He turned around so his back was facing Victor, and slowly slid the shirt off.

Very often he heard Yakov insult the yakuza, saying they had an unnecessary need for extravagance and showmanship for their strongest members, when it should be shown in action, not in appearance. Although many Bratva members had tattoos to show their achievements within the underworld, Victor never found the desire nor need to get them. After all, he’d done enough that just his name alone sent a shiver down any criminal’s spine.

There wasn’t a patch on Yuuri’s back that was blank, every inch of skin covered in colourful ink. Cherry blossoms were scattered all over, and in the middle of his back was a skull and a severed head.

It was beautiful and terrifying.

Victor’s body moved by itself, burying his face into Yuuri’s back, kissing each cherry blossom and tattoo, running his hands down Yuuri’s arms. He traced the patterns of the tattoos with his tongue, his hands moving to Yuuri’s chest, feeling the hardened lines of his body move with each breath.

“V-Victor,” Yuuri gasped.

“ _Krasivaya_ ,” Victor murmured against his skin, “you’re so beautiful, so beautiful…”

He pressed Yuuri onto his front, working his way down his back, taking off his pants and boxers to reveal that the tattoos continued until the tops of his thighs. He kissed the inked skin there too, eliciting a loud moan from Yuuri when he bit into the meat of his ass.

“Fuck, Victor,” he groaned. “Don’t stop…keep marking me…”

Victor happily obliged, biting down to leave purple-red patches over the blank patches of his skin. He turned Yuuri to his front, sucking at the skin down his neck, his collarbone, his chest, marking him as deeply as he did Victor.

He paused at the distorted scar on Yuuri’s right ribcage, tracing it with his finger. The mental image of Yuuri dying flashed through his mind again, constricting his chest.

“I’m sorry about that,” he whispered, lingering around the scar. “It should’ve been me.”

“Don’t say that,” Yuuri demanded, his eyes burning into Victor’s. “It’s not your fault.”

“But…you didn’t have to do that,” Victor said quietly.

“I didn’t have to,” Yuuri began, “but I wanted to. And if it happens again, I…”

Yuuri trailed off. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“I’d do it again.”

Victor stared, an unidentifiable emotion roaring inside him. He crushed his lips against Yuuri’s, pouring the overflowing feelings that were drowning him into Yuuri, because he didn’t know where else to siphon them.

“You’re too good for me,” Victor gasped between kisses.

“I should be the one saying that,” Yuuri responded, and Victor wanted to scream, because how could he think that? Compared to him, Yuuri was so much better, braver, faster, deadly.

It was a miracle that Yuuri even _wanted_ Victor.

Somewhere in between the rest of their clothing was discarded, and Victor was kissing the back of Yuuri’s neck, his hand stroking his length as he fucked his thighs.

“G-God,” Victor gasped, drunk on the feeling of Yuuri’s skin sliding against his cock as Yuuri clenched at the bedsheets, fucking himself in Victor’s hand.

“Yes, yes, that’s it, faster,” Yuuri mewled, both of their words growing more and more incoherent until all semblance of spoken language fled their minds.

They collapsed together afterwards, the room silent except for the sound of their panting. Victor felt his eyelids droop, burying his face into the back of Yuuri’s head, breathing in his scent.

He fell asleep to the warmth of Yuuri’s body against his, the gentle movement of his breathing lulling him to sleep.

//

Victor woke up to the feeling of fingers running through his hair and a soft voice humming. He opened his eyes to find Yuuri facing him, a fond smile on his face.

“Good morning,” he said shyly.

“Good morning,” Victor responded. With the sunlight filtering through the curtains, the bruises he left on Yuuri the night before seemed more prominent than ever.

“Sorry about…those,” he apologized. “Do they hurt?”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri replied. “You’re not much better either.”

Victor looked at himself, taking note of all the marks dotted down his chest, a cluster on his thighs, a smattering on his arms. He laughed softly.

“I don’t mind,” he admitted. “I kind of like it, actually. Makes me feel wanted.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened, oddly shiny in the morning light.

“Me too,” he whispered, pressing their faces together, holding on so tightly like he never wanted to let go. “Me too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://domokunrainbowkinz.tumblr.com/)


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